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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954053">And Who Is This Monster Wearing My Skin?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal/pseuds/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal'>ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Angst, Clone Wars, Episode: s7e11 Shattered, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mind Control, Movie: Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Order 66, Psychological Torture, Song: Paralyzed (Against the Current), Title From An Against The Current Song</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:00:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954053</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal/pseuds/ElizabethOlsenIsMySpiritAnimal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The events of <em>Shattered</em>, through the eyes of Jesse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ahsoka Tano &amp; Clone Troopers, CT-5597 | Jesse &amp; Ahsoka Tano</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And Who Is This Monster Wearing My Skin?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Guess. Who's. Fucking. Screaming.</p><p>Me. That's. Who.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>//</p><p>The armory is not Jesse’s favorite place to be.</p><p>He prefers his bunk, because it’s a safe, relaxing place where he’s among brothers, among <em> friends, </em>but right now, after what happened on Mandalore...he can’t bring himself to be near them right now. As soon as the medics cleared him he was up and running from any and all communal places, coming straight to the armory to gather up his arms and armor. He feels like he’s lost all control of the world, so the thought that he can at least get back control of even a tiny fraction of his life is a lifeline he desperately clings to.</p><p>If Jesse’s life is a sculpture, it’s in pieces right now.</p><p>Hardcase loved the armory. He spent all of his time there, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he also had a bloodlust to rival a Zabrak in full-rage Jesse imagines he’d have become an armsmaster, rather than fight on the front lines. Honestly, he’s just surprised the man didn’t bunk down in the armory. </p><p>Safety regulations, likely.</p><p>So he cleans, scrubs his armor and puts it on, grabs his rifle and loads and unloads it at least twenty times. He cleans it well, and for a moment, he contemplates putting it to his head and pulling the trigger. He...he was weak, giving into Maul like that. Rex forgave him, and Ahsoka didn’t blame him, but Jesse...Jesse cannot get it out of his head that he <em> failed. </em> Failed his Captain, his Commander, <em> himself. </em></p><p>It is a welcome surprise when the comm chimes.</p><p>Perhaps it’s one of the <em> vode </em>inviting him down for a meal, or a card game or something, Jesse thinks, as he picks it up and thumbs it. He could use the distraction. He taps the button, and a shadowy figure appears. Strange, he doesn’t know anyone with that kind of fashion sense, must be a wrong number. He opens his mouth to speak-</p><p>“Execute Order 66.”</p><p>-and then...and then...and then…</p><p>...and then ARC-5597 nods once. “It will be done, my Lord.” He says, and he gets up from his spot in the armory, just as the doors open and more soldiers flood in, each one hastily grabbing up their arms and armor with machine precision. ARC-5597 does not pay them any heed, he simply puts on his helmet and strides out the door, joining the other troopers who are similarly garbed and armed.</p><p>Good soldiers follow orders.</p><p>It is a short ride to the bridge, courtesy of the turbolift, and ARC-5597 spends it checking his rifle. It is a good rifle, fully loaded, all parts in working order, sufficient to take down the traitor on the bridge. ARC-5597 signals to the rest of the men as the lift doors open and they fan out across the bridge, joining other troopers who are similarly readying themselves for a fight.</p><p>Good soldiers follow orders.</p><p>There is the sound of gunfire, the flaring hum of lightsabers. The traitor is putting up a fight, it seems. ARC-5597 does not mind that the traitor is resisting, ARC-5597 does not mind that his compatriots are dying. The prey is resisting, therefore it must be subdued.</p><p>Good soldiers follow orders.</p><p>The door opens, and ARC-5597 and company surprise the traitor in a hail of gunfire. CC-7657 is stumbling to his feet, clearly injured, but ARC-5597 pays him no heed as he fires and fires and fires again, hoping one of his shots will hit the traitor. She ducks and weaves and one by one, his fellow fall, before the darkness envelops the room and the sabers vanish. Clearly, the target is dead, and ARC-5597 and his fellows have succeeded.</p><p>Mission complete.</p><p>//</p><p>The target is, in fact, not dead.</p><p>This is unfortunate, ARC-5597 thinks, as he orders a squad to form up behind him and takes up the task of handling the searching of the Starboard Dorms. Fortunately, there is still time to complete the mission, and there is only one traitor to eliminate. The 332nd Company will do their job. </p><p>CC-7567 had laid out the parameters quite clearly, after all.</p><p>Target: Ahsoka Tano. <em> Kill. </em> Target: Maul. <em> Kill. </em></p><p>ARC-5597 and his team stack up on the dorms and enter it as if it were a hostile building, which is quite true. At this very moment, any area not occupied by a fellow soldier is hostile territory. There are enough men to search the ship and kill the traitor, but they must first find her, and that means combing every inch of the ship. He directs the lockers to be searched, the closets to be pulled open, the beds to be overturned. The target is small, and that means no area can be left unturned, however improbable.</p><p>As he marches through the dorms, scanning and checking every darkened crevice with his rifle, ARC-5597 steps on something. On instinct, he reaches down and picks it up. Perhaps it is something that will help him find the target.</p><p>It is a photo.</p><p>There are three figures in it, CC-7567, the traitor, and himself. All three appear to be happy - what does that word mean again, something deep inside of ARC-5597 wonders - if the expressions on their faces are any indication. CC-7567 has an arm wrapped around the traitor’s waist, a happy expression alighting his visage, and ARC-5597 is leaning into the traitor’s frame, an archaic one-finger symbol raised high as he makes an expression that is quite unflattering. </p><p>It is useless in his hunt, he thinks, and drops the photo on the floor.</p><p>As the photo lands back on the floor with a thumping noise, ARC-5597 feels something in the back of his head, a strange, little ache. Something...something is wrong, but he doesn’t know what it is. He stumbles slightly out of step, and then, on an instinct, he picks the photo back up and tucks it away in his pouch. </p><p>Perhaps it will be useful in disseminating the traitor’s identity to other units should she escape.</p><p>//</p><p>The prisoner has escaped, and the traitor is still missing.</p><p>That is not good, to say the least, but ARC-5597 does not mind. There are only so many places on the ship that one can hide, and between the various search teams spread out throughout the vessel, he knows that the traitor and the prisoner are running out of time. They will be caught and killed, and order will be restored. He opens the door to the mess hall and moves in, a full three squadrons at his back. Thirty men, sufficient to hopefully hold down and kill either of the targets. </p><p>As he passes by the now-vacant kitchen, he sees something. A fruit, perhaps, and something in the back of his mind remembers the target, sitting before him, a delighted expression on her face as a hand - his, perhaps - reached out to offer it to her.</p><p>
  <em> The last one, Commander. Here you go! </em>
</p><p><em> Thanks, Jesse! You’re the best! </em> The traitor says, accepting the gift happily and taking a bite. ARC-5597 remembers where this was taken, but the information is useless as they’re not there right now. They’re <em> here, </em>on the warship, and he would do well to remember he has a mission to do.</p><p>Good soldiers follow orders...right?</p><p>//</p><p>ARC-5597 personally storms the traitor’s quarters.</p><p>She isn’t there, of course she’s not, but the search demanded that every part of the warship be checked over. Which is why there is a full platoon checking the bathrooms, even though only an idiot would choose to hide in such a public part of the ship. For some reason, ARC-5597 finds the concept of battle-hardened troops kicking down bathroom stall doors to be humorous, though he does not know why. </p><p>On the traitor’s bedside is a singular little trinket, something that he picks up just in case it could be a lead for him and the others to pick up the scent. It’s a piece of a soldier’s armor, a singular shoulder piece from the earlier Phase I line. Painted in the colors of CC-7567’s armor. Odd that it would be here, he thinks but he puts it in his pouch all the same. His fingers brush against the photo, gently jostling it, and then...and then…</p><p><em> Jesse </em>wakes up.</p><p>Jesse <em> remembers. </em></p><p>
  <em> Jesse screams. </em>
</p><p>No noise comes forth, however, and it occurs to Jesse that something is <em> very </em>wrong, he’s in full armor, in Commander Tano’s quarters - which look like someone threw in a whole line of detonators and followed up with a generous amount of cannon fire, by the way - and despite the fact that he’s bellowing and flailing his arms about, he’s still walking with military precision. </p><p>“It’s all clear here, move on!”</p><p><em> What? What’s clear? What the fuck’s going on?! </em>Jesse screams, as he falls into line with his fellow soldiers. He recognizes some of them, but he knows immediately that they’re not themselves. They don’t move with any of the quirks they usually do, just simple, machine movement. Jesse retreats into himself to recall everything that led him to be here, apparently hunting for someone.</p><p>No, not someone, <em> Ahsoka. </em></p><p>
  <em> Execute Order 66. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It will be done, my Lord. </em>
</p><p><em> Oh. Oh god. Oh god no. </em> Jesse thinks, as he throws himself forward, trying to do something, <em> anything </em> to get ahold of his body, which moves like a possessed marionette, like someone, somewhere, has simply pushed him aside and taken his body for their own. The figure, the figure in his comm...he must have done this, Jesse thinks, as the comm at his side chimes. <em> Don’t, don’t answer that! </em>He shouts, as his arm moves and picks it up, and he hears his own voice answer.</p><p>“ARC-5597, we have the traitor boxed into the medical bay!”</p><p><em> Ahsoka’s not a traitor! Stop this madness! </em> Jesse howls, pounding his fists against the invisible wall keeping him from grabbing the reins again, but all that comes out is a simple nod. “Affirmative.” The <em> thing </em>wearing his skin says, as he moves to the lift and piles in with all the other troops. They ready their weapons as the buttons indicate they’ve reached the medical level, and they pile out with the same military precision they stepped in with. Jesse follows his squadmates down the halls, passing by breached blast doors, walking at a steady pace, at least, until he hears gunfire.</p><p>Then they’re running.</p><p>He sees brothers lying on the ground, knocked unconscious from high-speed impacts with the walls or dead from blaster bolts. At the end of the hall is the familiar figure of Ahsoka, fighting back against the troops shooting at her. <em> Stop, stop! </em>Jesse screams, as his body raises his rifle, prepares to fire-</p><p>-and then the door slams shut, locking him and his men out.</p><p>“Get this door open!” ARC-5597 shouts, even as Jesse howls in rage and throws himself at the monster wearing his skin, to no avail. Before him, troopers with laser cutters kneel at the sides of the door, beginning to saw through it with mechanical precision. Jesse sees his own frame kneel down in a firing position, ready to light up the <em> traitor </em>the instant the door is open, and after one last, futile attempt to retake control, Jesse gives up. He’s paralyzed inside his own body, no escape from the prison he’s living in, watching as a monster wearing his skin prepares to kill the girl every man in the 501st had come to consider a sister, had sworn they would care for, would protect to their dying breaths.</p><p>Then, and only then, does he understand he’s not alone. Every man around him is no doubt going through the same struggles as him. None of them want to do this, so the monsters living inside their head have stepped up to do it for them. He can imagine them all fighting and losing in their vain attempts to stop it, and only then, does Jesse understand that it’s not <em> their </em> fault, not necessarily, even as their bodies move of their own accord to carry out orders that good soldiers would follow, but good <em> men </em>would disobey.</p><p>Slowly, Jesse closes his eyes and begs for forgiveness.</p><p>It’s the least he can do, for himself and his brothers.</p><p>//</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I. Cannot. Wait. For. Monday.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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